


You Matter to Me

by emberanne



Series: In Spite of the Way That It Is [4]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Comfort/Angst, Emotions, Feelings, Gen, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Park Seonghwa is Bad at Feelings, Park Seonghwa-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emberanne/pseuds/emberanne
Summary: "Empaths," children are taught, "are monsters."Park Seonghwa isn't expecting much from college. He has no reason to, he's an empath. The only reason he accepted the scholarship, the opportunity, the miracle, is because he has a promise to keep. But he's not expecting much, he's not expecting anything. Everywhere he goes, everyone he meets, it's always the same.Then comes Kim Hongjoong, kind smiles and loud laughter and offers of friendship outstretched, defying all expectations and contradicting everything Seonghwa has ever known.-or, how seonghwa and hongjoong grow to be friends (and maybe something more) amidst the power and beliefs that dictate the course of seonghwa's life
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong & Park Seonghwa, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Series: In Spite of the Way That It Is [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927066
Comments: 32
Kudos: 138





	1. the Facts

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read [The World We Dream About](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25237525/chapters/61176847), all you really need to know is that everyone has powers. At age eight, children are sorted into tiers based on their power and the potential it has. There are heroes, there are villains. The powers of villains are hated more than others. Seonghwa has one of those powers.
> 
> title from "You Matter to Me" by Sara Bareilles

> There have been so many villains over time that only the truly terrible standout. Only the cruelest, the angriest, the ones who inflict the worst pain on civilians. 
> 
> Of these, three are taught to children. 
> 
> The first was a fire-wielder who lost his mind when he lost his wife and child to a fire he couldn't get to in time. Driven insane with grief and growing vindictive with the jealousy that consumed him when he saw happy families, he tried to burn the world so it would share his pain. His fire single handedly killed hundreds before it was put out. 
> 
> The second and third were a father-daughter duo, filled with hatred for the world that had scorned them their entire lives. They manipulated people's emotions, gave the population their anger and viciousness, turned people against each other so terribly that brother was killing brother and over a thousand people were dead or injured in their havoc. Those that tried to stop them were turned against each other and it was months before they were finally defeated. 
> 
> Their anger is feared more than the fire-wielder’s insanity. _They_ are feared so much more than children of fire. 
> 
> "Empaths," children are taught, "are incredibly dangerous and nearly impossible to defeat. If you ever come across one, turn the other way while you still have your mind." 
> 
> And suddenly the world makes much more sense and he understands. He understands everything he's ever wondered about Seonghwa. Why Seonghwa never mentions his power or rank, why he never uses it, why he always knows exactly what to say. Why Seonghwa can get along with every person they come across but never be close with anyone but Hongjoong. 
> 
> Most of all, he understands the fear in Seonghwa's eyes. Because it's more than fear.
> 
> “Empaths,” children are taught, “are monsters.”

**Fact One: Seonghwa is an empath**

**Fact Two: It is near-universally acknowledged that all empaths are the same**

**Fact Three: Fact Two has and will ruin many lives, including the subject of Fact One**

* * *

Seonghwa steps into the lecture hall of his first college class with his heart in his throat. 

It's hard to believe that he's made it here, that he's come this far. It's hard to believe that he's been given a space in a place like this. It's hard to believe that he, theoretically, belongs here. 

Belonging is a foreign notion to the empath. Belonging, specifically in a place like this, means being amongst peers. And while the students streaming past Seonghwa to mill around the lecture hall and find their seats are by definition his peers, he can't help but think he will never belong amongst them. 

(He will never truly belong here. Here is for people with futures. Here is for people with dreams. Here is for low-tiers and mid-tiers full of life and hope. Empaths aren't meant for here, for places like this. Empaths aren't meant for anywhere.)

But he's here now, he's been given this golden opportunity, he would be a fool to turn away and run from this. 

And the thought of running away is tempting, so goddamn tempting, but Seonghwa made a promise. Instead of turning tail and running, he steps forward and makes his way down the steps of this alarmingly full lecture hall. 

He promised he would prove them wrong. He keeps his promises.

"Excuse me," Seonghwa says when he realizes that all the aisle seats are taken and (even worse) there are not enough seats for him to put one in between him and whoever he sits next to. "Do you mind if I sit here?" 

Here is a seat one off the aisle seat, next to a boy mindlessly doodling on the top of his notebook. The boy looks up, flicks his eyes over Seonghwa once, and smiles politely. 

_Curiousity_. 

"You take the aisle," the boy says, already picking up his stuff and moving into the seat Seonghwa had asked for. 

"Oh, that's very kind of you, but that's not necessary-" 

"I insist," the boy says, settling into his new seat and looking up at Seonghwa. "Your legs are longer." 

Seonghwa hesitates for a second and the boy rolls his eyes. He looks playful. 

_Nervousness_. 

So Seonghwa smiles in return, soft and constrained and kind of awkward, and takes the aisle seat because nervous people never end well for him. The second he takes the seat, the nervousness is gone, not even an echo left. 

Still, he wonders if it's some sort of omen that the first person he tries to talk to is nervous around him. He wonders if it's a sign that he was wrong to make this promise, foolish to accept this opportunity. 

(They always find out.)

"What's your name, by the way?" asks the boy, voice dropping as the professor enters the hall. 

"Park Seonghwa," his survival instincts answer. Half a smile, politely friendly, still reserved. 

"Nice to meet you, Park Seonghwa-ssi," the boy smiles, loud and warm and bright. "I'm Kim Hongjoong, I hope we can be good friends." 

_Kindness_. 

It's not an emotion, not really, but that's the only way Seonghwa knows how to describe the boy sitting beside him. This boy is so, so kind. 

Kindness is a foreign notion to the empath as well. 

* * *

The opportunity was more of a miracle than an opportunity if you asked Seonghwa. He had almost given up, had been close to giving up for the past three years, on trying to fit in. There was no point because eventually, always, they will find out and Seonghwa will have to run. 

And Seonghwa was tired. 

So he had almost given up entirely because what's the point of trying when smiles turn to sneers, when trust turns to fear, when friends turn to empty air. He was so close to giving up and hiding away for the rest of his life the moment he finished high school.

But then this miracle, this so-called opportunity. 

He had been noticed and for once, it wasn't in an entirely terrible way. He had a teacher who was friends with the president of a prestigious university, a teacher who confided in this president that there was an empath in class who was smart and worked hard, and the president took notice. 

Hence the opportunity, the scholarship, the miracle. A chance to go to university and try to have a normal life. Things will be different, the president promised him, people are different when they go to college and learn to think for themselves. 

Seonghwa didn't believe her, he still doesn't. He knows humans better than she ever will. Humans are the same everywhere. They're kind until they're not. They find out and they're afraid. 

And yet, he accepts. 

He accepts the scholarship because scholarships are hard to find. He accepts the opportunity because opportunities are rarely given to people like him. 

He accepts the miracle because he's never had a miracle before and maybe, just maybe, he hasn't completely banished the foolish notion he can make a better life than the one he's been handed. 

* * *

**Fact One: Seonghwa is an empath**

Fact One means a lot of things. 

Fact One means that every single day of Seonghwa's life is a fight for existence. Fact One means that going to school, being in public, is terrifying. Every day, every hour, every minute, every second is one closer to someone, everyone, finding out the truth. He spends his first week of college completely on edge, staying as silent as possible so he won't say the wrong thing, doing his best to seem normal and fade into the background of everyone's perspective because Fact One means hiding in plain sight. 

Hiding in plain sight is harder than it sounds. 

Because Fact One also means Seonghwa has an ever-present sensor. Every emotion has a sound, a tonal aura, that differentiates it from every other. Anger is brassy and harsh. Fear is a high tremor. Disgust is silence and echoes. Seonghwa constantly knows what everyone around him is feeling. He can't get them out of his head. 

If he's not careful, if he doesn't watch his tongue, he'll say what they need him to say. He'll comfort the sadness hiding behind humor, he'll encourage the powerlessness hiding behind high spirits. He does it sometimes, he can't help it, but he's careful not to do it all the time. If he does it all the time, they'll get suspicious. 

So Seonghwa has to be acknowledged but not distinguished, reserved but not closed-off, sympathetic but not empathetic. He has to be forgettable, unmemorable, while still existing. 

If he doesn't exist, they might find out. 

Seonghwa hides in plain sight and knows that because of Fact One, he has no idea what it means to be himself. 

* * *

Seonghwa knows better than to get attached to people. He knows how to be friendly with everyone and friends with no one, because it hurts too much for everyone when the friends find out and leave. 

They always find out. They always leave. 

After a lifetime of pretending, it's easy for Seonghwa to be the person he needs to be to survive. He is someone others will wave hi to on their way to class, drop a sarcastic comment to in lecture, but never feel the need to invite or befriend further. He is memorable but only peripherally, he is trustworthy but not so deeply as to become close. He is the acquaintance who only exists in the context of interactions. 

Apparently, Kim Hongjoong did not get the memo. 

"Hey, Seonghwa-ssi! Wait up!" 

_Hope_. 

They only share one class, Seonghwa should only see Hongjoong twice a week, maybe three times if they happen to be waiting in the same line at a campus coffee shop. They should never exchange more than standard pleasantries and meaningless small talk. It should be instinctual for both of them to only exist in each other's lives as the person they sit next to in this introductory psychology lecture. 

All of this should be natural, except that it isn't, because Hongjoong is everywhere. Literally everywhere, Seonghwa can't escape the guy. Hongjoong pops up by his side when he's walking to class, when he's hunting for essay sources in the library, when he's working in the computer lab. Hongjoong can and will appear anywhere, anytime, seemingly out of thin air. 

(After an embarrassing incident where Hongjoong's appearance startles Seonghwa so badly his screech reaches a new decibel, Seonghwa learns that Hongjoong is literally appearing out of thin air. Hongjoong is a teleport, a damn skilled one at that, and Seonghwa learns to look for the wispy tendrils of inky air because it's the only way of telling if Hongjoong's nearby before he appears.)

The moral of the story is that Hongjoong is everywhere and hell-bent on becoming friends with Seonghwa and in all honesty, Seonghwa is too overwhelmed to gracefully excuse himself from the situation. So he lets Hongjoong hunt for books and walk to class together and work side by side because he doesn't know how to say no when Hongjoong asks so blatantly and feels so hopeful. 

(And maybe it's because there is so much more amidst the tentative hum of hope. _Stress_. _Compassion_. _Desperation_. _Fervor_. _Fatigue_. Hongjoong feels so, so much. Seonghwa has never met someone who feels as complexly and unapologetically as Hongjoong does.)

"Seonghwa-ssi," Hongjoong yawns, arms stretching in front of him. Seonghwa fights every urge to flinch away from Hongjoong's outstretched arms. "Do you want to get lunch?" 

He knows better than to get attached to people. He knows better than to let people get attached to him. 

"Maybe some other time, Hongjoong-ssi." 

He doesn't know how to say no to Hongjoong. 

* * *

Everyone has some level of survival instincts. Most are simple, ingrained so deeply into the human psyche they're activated without thought. Holding your breath underwater, staying hydrated, the fight or flight response. These are all basic survival instincts. 

For empaths, for Seonghwa, survival instincts mean more. 

They have to mean more, they have to evolve to more. Holding your breath isn’t enough to save you from drowning in the world pulling you under, pushing you to snap. The fight or flight response can only be flight because to fight is to condemn yourself to incarceration. The empath has to camouflage perfectly, distract subtly, integrate seamlessly. Survival instincts for the empath are constantly activated every day. 

Every day is a fight for existence.

* * *

Seonghwa knew he was tempting the devil when he signed up for psychology, but he did it anyway. He knew that of all the things he could choose to study, choose to show interest in, psychology is the one most likely to blow his cover. And yet, he chose it. 

He can't help his curiosity. He knows humans, he knows emotions. He knows how they operate and fluctuate and spiral and cope. At the end of the day, he has the potential to be a strong empath. He knows humans. 

So he's curious about what humans think themselves to be. How do the methods of psychology hold up to the powers of an empath?

It's interesting, it really is. Seonghwa almost would say he's enjoying psychology. He likes the science, the definitive reasoning behind diagnoses and conclusions. It's so much cleaner than the mess of his powers. 

"An operationalization is a way of measuring something that his hard to measure," the professor explains. "For example, happiness. How might we measure happiness? (This is not a rhetorical question.)"

"A questionnaire!" 

"Self-report!"

"But in either of those, there are hundreds of different questions you could ask," the professor continues. "We can ask, 'how happy are you now' or 'how many times have you experienced happiness in the past month?' We could ask friends and family members of the participant whether they think the participant is happy. Or we could opt to measure dopamine levels. While the results of each of these might not conflate, they are all valid operationalizations of happiness." 

"Professor?" someone asks, a person that's loud and makes jokes all the time. "Isn't there something more obvious and accurate?" 

"Is there?" the professor says, amused. "Do tell." 

"Use an empath," the student says with a cruel laugh. "That's all they could ever be good for anyways." 

Seonghwa's stomach lurches violently. Laughter echoes through the room, a range of raucous shrieks to low chuckling. Hongjoong is laughing, soft with the familiar tinkling of amusement, and Seonghwa feels like his intestines are turning inside out. 

The professor smiles, polite and bemused, and very pointedly doesn't look at Seonghwa. 

"Yes, that would work as an operationalization as well," the professor says. "With that, we're at the end of our time together for this week. Class dismissed." 

Seonghwa pushes out of the classroom just a little too fast, survival instincts kick in enough to shout "bathroom" to Hongjoong's confused calls. He all but throws himself into the first bathroom he finds, locking the door behind him and emptying his stomach into the toilet until there's nothing left but bile and shame. 

Because the worst part is that nothing the student said was wrong. Because Seonghwa could tell a researcher whether a participant was happy, whether he heard a singing chime. Because it was all he and his power could ever be good for anyway. 

* * *

**Fact Two: It is near-universally acknowledged that all empaths are the same**

Fact Two is perhaps the cruelest of the facts. 

No, Fact Two is inarguably the cruelest of the facts. 

Fact Two is built on a lie. 

* * *

The drop date hasn’t passed, Seonghwa considers quitting the class before someone says something else that makes him sick to his stomach. He considers leaving now before he gets caught. 

“The add date has long passed,” the president says when Seonghwa goes to see her and she urges him to confess his thoughts. “If you drop now, you won’t be a full-time student and I won’t be able to offer you the scholarship.” 

So Seonghwa doesn’t drop out because the president has given him this opportunity and it would be rude to throw it back in her face after everything she’s done for him. 

“You’re a good kid, Park Seonghwa-ssi,” the president tells him. “I believe that you deserve a place here.” 

He doesn’t know why the president trusts him so much, but he knows enough. He knows that through him, the president is attempting to absolve herself of someone she used to know. Maybe an empath, maybe a friend of an empath, maybe someone else entirely. Seonghwa doesn’t know and doesn’t ask. 

All he knows is that there is a promise he has to keep. He has to prove to the president that she made the right decision trusting him and allowing him to come here, so he doesn’t drop psychology and keeps sitting next to Kim Hongjoong instead.

* * *

Seonghwa first learned Fact Two when he was five years old. By itself Fact Two isn't so cruel and terrible, but it's heartbreaking when Fact One comes into play. 

He learns Fact Two from his grandfather when he's five years old, confusedly staring at the old man sitting across the table from him and wondering why his father has brought him to the visiting room of a penitentiary. 

(Later in life, much later, he will learn it’s because his father was at a loss and had no idea what to do but turn to the only empath he knew in the hopes that Seonghwa wouldn’t end up like every other empath there is.) 

Fact Two is explained to him like this: 

Each empath is beautifully unique in the way that every human is beautifully unique. Each empath is an individual with a heart and a brain and a set of internal organs, all the good things. Each empath has their own perspective and personality and passion and other words that sometimes start with p. Each empath has a different way of using their empathic powers, some by mere thought, a number by touch, the most powerful by voice. Every empath has a certain amount of control and influence in their empathic power, some more than others. 

Certainly, with all of this, it cannot be denied that every empath is unique and should be treated as their own unique person. 

But they aren’t. 

Because every empath has the ability to manipulate the emotions of a person and for that, every empath is hated. For that, every empath is an outcast. For that, every empath is treated as less, is worth less, is deserving of less, than everyone else. 

It is near-universally acknowledged that all empaths are the same and someday, maybe someday soon or someday far in the future, Seonghwa will be in the exact same position as his grandfather. 

Seonghwa has known this since he was five years old. 

* * *

"You don't strike me as a prideful person," says Hongjoong, his head suddenly next to Seonghwa's as he peers over the elder's shoulder. Seonghwa nearly jumps a meter in the air. 

"What?" He wheezes, crushing the psychology homework survey to his chest to prevent Hongjoong from seeing the rest. He thinks Hongjoong might send him into cardiac arrest sometimes. 

"You don't strike me as a prideful person," Hongjoong repeats with a shrug and Seonghwa almost feels like laughing. 

One of the only things that keeps Seonghwa going is pride.

Maybe he should be ashamed of his pride, maybe he should feel self-conscious about it, but he can’t. He’s nineteen years old and he’s still walking, breathing, in the illusion of freedom. He hasn’t been put behind bars yet. He hasn’t snapped yet. Fact Two hasn’t led to Fact Three yet.

So yeah, he has a lot of pride. He has come so far and it’s his pride that keeps him going. He’s a prideful person. 

It’s one of the only things he knows about himself. 

“Are you messing with the answers to see what’s the craziest score you can get?” asks Hongjoong, pulling Seonghwa back into the reality of Hongjoong settling into the seat on the other side of Seonghwa’s table. Hongjoong quirks an eyebrow at Seonghwa. “Now that seems extremely out of character for you.” 

“I’m not messing with the answers,” says Seonghwa, slowly pulling the survey from his chest to smooth it out over the table. “I, I just..” 

“Are you better than the rest of us?” teases Hongjoong, a laugh halfway across his lips. “Damn, Park Seonghwa, I didn’t think you had it in you.” 

“What are you talking about,” sputters Seonghwa, fanning his hand desperately. “Yah, Hongjoong-ah, stop laughing at me, that’s not it at all!” 

“Then what is it?” Hongjoong laughs, easy smile and intense eyes. 

_Curiosity_. _Hope_. 

Always so curious and hopeful. 

“It doesn’t matter-” 

“Sure it does,” says Hongjoong, leaning across the table at Seonghwa. “What is it, if not that?” 

Seonghwa’s mouth is dry under the intensity of Hongjoong’s gaze, his ears echo with the ring of Hongjoong’s curiosity. 

This is friend territory. 

Seonghwa knows better than this. 

“It’s like,” he says, because he can’t say no to Hongjoong, doesn’t want to say no to Hongjoong. Because he can’t help being genuine when Hongjoong is so beautifully honest and hopeful with him. “It’s like, everyone here is so incredible. Everyone is so passionate and impressive and, and I’m not anything. I’m nothing at all. So I’m proud of the fact that even though I’m nothing, I can stand in the same place as the rest of you.” 

Seonghwa should know better than to say something so close to the truth. 

“Oh,” Hongjoong says, breath leaving in a slow stream and eyes softer than Seonghwa has ever seen. 

_Surprise_. 

Seonghwa realizes it’s probably the first time he’s spoken genuinely to Hongjoong. “I, uh, okay.” 

Seonghwa nods, cheeks burning, and ducks his head back to the survey. His pen scratches at the paper mindlessly, a small skeletal flower as he tries to ignore the mess of music echoing from Hongjoong’s emotions. 

“Hey.” 

_Satisfaction_. 

Seonhwa tilts his head up to see Hongjoong’s broad grin. “You called me Hongjoong-ah.” 

Oh god. He did. 

He’s getting attached. 

“It’s good,” Hongjoong says, catching sight of Seonghwa’s immediate panic. “I’m glad you’re comfortable with me. Can I…” 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Seonghwa stumbles, trips over his tongue and feels his brain face plant into a brick wall. He shouldn’t do this. He doesn’t want to say no. “Yeah, you can too, if you like.” 

“Can I call you Hwa?” Hongjoong asks, cheeks as red as Seonghwa feels and a smile tearing across his face as Seonghwa nods, words failing him entirely. “Awesome. Thanks, Hwa.” 

And for a moment, Seonghwa swears he can hear the distinct singing of happiness. 

* * *

Hongjoong invites Seonghwa to get dinner with some other first years. 

Seonghwa reminds himself that getting attached, no matter how tempting, isn't worth the pain. 

He pretends he doesn't hear disappointment whining from Hongjoong's silence. 

* * *

Fact Two was a lot to grasp at the age of five. It wasn't until a few years later that Seongwha grew to understand what his grandfather meant. It wasn't until the palms of his hands and the skin of his knees was torn open on asphalt, until he was shoved to the ground by children far older than him with cruel laughs and wary eyes, that he realized this would always be his reality. 

(It wasn't until one of his bullies, if he can even call them bullies, told him that no one would believe him if he said anything anyway. No one would believe an empath.)

It is near-universally acknowledged that all empaths are the same. This is a terrible truth. 

It's a lot to grasp at the age of five, but it's not so hard to grasp at the age of nine. It's not hard to remember it for the rest of his life, to let it affect his every action. It's not hard to remember when he has to hide to exist. It's not hard to remember this when every smile sent his way will eventually be replaced with fear, when the smiles that do stay are tainted with disgust. 

Even those of his family. 

* * *

So it's better that Seonghwa never gets attached to Hongjoong. Seonghwa doesn't want to know the disappointment that comes with Hongjoong's disgust. Seonghwa doesn't want to know the pain that comes from Hongjoong leaving. 

They always leave. 

There's always pain. 

* * *

Someone like Hongjoong could never be attached to someone like Seonghwa, anyway. 

The thing is that Hongjoong has plenty of friends outside of Seonghwa. Hongjoong is good at presenting himself as someone that's easy to get along with. There is no friend Hongjoong can't make, no classmate he can't strike up friendly small talk with, no person he can't cheerfully smile at on the sidewalk. 

(And Seonghwa knows that sometimes these things tire Hongjoong. So much of Hongjoong’s song is exhaustion and anxiety. But Hongjoong doesn’t know that Seonghwa knows that, so Seonghwa keeps it to himself and thinks about helping although he never does.

He wants to. He wants to, so badly.)

Because Hongjoong has so much passion in everything he does. He cares so much. His kindness knows no bounds. It’s plain as day to see, clear as a blue summer sky, and it’s the reason Hongjoong has so many friends. 

Hongjoong is full of genuine compassion and kindness and drive. Hongjoong is so upfront and honest. Hongjoong is…

Hongjoong is the opposite of Seonghwa. Hongjoong is everything good about having strong emotions and Seonghwa is everything bad. Someone like Hongjoong should never be attached to someone like Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa should never do this to Hongjoong. 

* * *

“Hwa!” Hongjoong calls, calls every time, a smile sliding across his face and hope humming in the air. He’s surrounded by people, no surprise there, and Seonghwa can hear the sustained tenor of their familiarity and comfort amongst each other. He recognizes a handful of them from psychology class. 

Seonghwa waves politely, half a smile on his face, and turns to continue walking. 

Almost immediately, Hongjoong pops up in front of Seonghwa. 

“I called you,” Hongjoong frowns. “The least you could do is say hello.” 

“Sorry,” Seognhwa apologizes. His survival instincts wouldn’t let him come closer even if he wanted to. “I didn’t want to disturb.” 

“What’s there to disturb?” frowns Hongjoong. “You’re more than welcome to join.” 

_Confusion_. 

“Ah,” Seonghwa searches for a way to gracefully say no. Searches for a way to say that no, he can’t join because he can’t risk them getting even more attached. Because he can’t risk exposing himself to more people who might catch on and expose him later. “That’s very kind of you.” 

You are always kind, he doesn’t say. 

“So you’ll join?” asks Hongjoong. 

_Hope_. 

For a moment, Seonghwa almost considers saying yes. And then- 

_Fatigue_. _Stress_. _Frustration_. 

Seonghwa doesn’t want to add to Hongjoong’s problems. So his survival instincts guide him into wincing and it’s enough to tell Hongjoong no. 

_Disappointment_. 

Seonghwa nearly stumbles from how loud it is, how much it overpowers all of Hongjoong’s other emotions. It’s a terrible sound, all empty echoes that stretch on forever. He rushes to say, “I just, I have somewhere to be.” 

“Right, okay,” Hongjoong’s eyes are hard. “It’s fine.” 

“I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine,” Hongjoong’s disappointment is so, so loud and his smile is so, so bitter. “I shouldn’t have bothered you, you don’t seem to like hanging out anyways. You never say yes.” 

And Hongjoong’s gone, teleported back to his group, leaving Seonghwa helplessly staring at the wisps of inky air already dissipating in front of him. He wants to tell Hongjoong no, it’s not that he doesn’t like spending time with Hongjoong. He does, he really does. He likes spending time with Hongjoong far more than he should. 

It’s better not to get attached, his survival instincts remind him. It’s better this way. 

Seonghwa hitches his backpack up his shoulder and keeps walking. He doesn’t look back. 

* * *

It's better this way. 

His reality is Fact One. His reality is Fact Two. His reality is an impending Fact Three. His reality is lonely and cruel. It is not worthy of someone as warm and kind as Kim Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong doesn't deserve to have a monster in his life. 

* * *

**Fact Three: Fact Two has and will ruin many lives, including the subject of Fact One**

Here is how Fact Three accumulates: 

Seongwha is an empath. 

It is near-universally acknowledged that all empaths are the same. 

Every empath snaps eventually, according to everyone else. Every empath succumbs to the inherent evil of their power and tries to control others by their emotions, every empath is destined to become a fearsome, loathsome villain who tries to ruin everything. 

Every empath is told "you will snap" and every empath does. 

Truthfully? 

It would be so easy for Seongwha to snap. 

Seonghwa is an empath and all empaths are the same. He is a glass seconds from shattering. He is a dam one drop from overflowing. Every empath snaps. 

Every empath snaps because the world is too much. Because eventually a lifetime of "you are worth nothing" and "you are a monster" has an impact and every empath cries out in pain. 

Every empath snaps because they're tired. Every empath snaps because they're angry. Every empath snaps because the fear of what they will become controls the way the world treats them and that treatment turns them into what's been feared all along. 

Every empath snaps because every empath is human. 

The world forgets that. Empaths forget that too. 

Every empath snaps and their power floods out in droves. Every empath is taken down by heroes who never think to have sympathy. Every empath is incarcerated, locked away for the rest of their life. Every empath dies alone, unloved. 

Someday, Seonghwa will too. 

That is how Fact Three accumulates. 

* * *

He doesn't want Hongjoong to see him snap. 

He doesn't want to hurt Hongjoong when he does. 

It's better this way. 


	2. the Fear

> Life is an ongoing cycle for the empath: 
> 
> Arrive. Blend In. Get Caught. Run Away. 
> 
> Repeat. 
> 
> A lifetime of transferring schools. Staying silent under the wary gazes of teachers who are legally required to be in the know. Waiting in fear until someone's lips loosen, until someone starts to wonder why there's never a power used or rank mentioned off-hand, until parents start to gossip and pull their children away in fear. Hearing the word "empath" and knowing it's time to run away again, time to transfer schools, time to repeat the cycle. 
> 
> The second you stop blending in, you run. Run from your classmates, your family, anyone that crosses your path. No one will run after, no one will try to catch you until they're trying to throw you behind bars. 
> 
> It's better this way. 
> 
> The reality of the world is that there is no place for the empath. Seonghwa has lived this harsh reality his entire life. 

His grandfather was an empath. His grandmother was a child of fire. It does not escape Seonghwa that the only person his grandparents could find love from was someone who was hated nearly as much as they were. 

His father followed his grandmother's fate, although the powers were significantly muted. His father can't produce fire, can barely manipulate a candle flame. His father has warmth and heat that lingers beneath his skin. His grandparents, Seonghwa knows, were relieved their son turned out the way he did. They thought, perhaps, they were safe. 

They were not. 

His grandfather was incarcerated on his father's tenth birthday. His grandfather has been in the same penitentiary ever since. His grandfather is something like a point of shame for his father, something his mother screamed about when Seonghwa's empathic powers first developed and she looked at her youngest child with horror and her husband with anger for keeping such a secret. 

His grandfather is the only other empath he's known. 

Seonghwa has seen his grandfather four times over the course of his life, four times before his grandfather passed. The first when he was five and told Fact Two. The second when he was nine, a few days after the scraped palms and knees and Seonghwa had no one else to turn to who would understand his tears. The third when he was fourteen, his power growing exponentially and fear consuming his heart. 

The fourth time was the day before his grandfather died. His grandfather was weak, frail, and atrophied from decades of having his power suppressed. His grandfather asked for Seonghwa as a final request. 

"Prove them wrong," his grandfather tells him, eyes closed and hand feeble in Seonghwa's hold. "My Mars, my Hwaseong. Please." 

"I will," Seonghwa swears. Tears escape him, his chest is empty. He is losing the only person who has ever understood him. "I promise." 

* * *

Three days after his grandfather dies, the president will approach Seonghwa with the miracle. 

Four days after his grandfather dies, Seonghwa will accept. 

* * *

Most days, Seonghwa will think he was foolish to accept the miracle, to make the promise. How is he supposed to prove that he's not like the others, that not all empaths are the same, when he doesn't believe it himself?

It's simpler, Seonghwa thinks, to just take the actions that would make his grandfather proud than actually believe he has the right to take those actions. It's far less painful to believe that deserving a life better than the one he's been handed is nothing more than a foolish notion. It's easier to not fight back and let Fact Two wash over him, condemn himself to the belief that all empaths are the same. 

"You deserve a place in the world," the president says when Seonghwa dutifully goes in for his biweekly check-in a few days after he pushed Hongjoong away. "Thus far, you have been an exception to the rule." 

He wishes he could take the easy way out. 

* * *

Seonghwa has been alone for the majority of his nineteen years and he's never felt so lonely before. 

It crushes in on him, the loneliness. There are days where Seonghwa wanders the psychology building, telling himself he's looking for a nook to study in but really just missing the friend he gave up. He wanders for hours, learns the entire department, has a better mental map of the building than most professors. Tucked into the third floor, far away from the lecture halls and signature coffee stalls and all the popular study spots is a window seat big enough for two or three people to settle into and study. When Seonghwa's loneliness presses too heavily during his wanderings, he settles there and lets the heat of vending machine lattes warm his palms. 

It's nice, the window seat, he likes it there. The window stretches a little too tall, the wooden sill a little too deep, the cushions a little too battered. It's worn out and tired. It's familiar to Seonghwa. 

He thinks about apologizing sometimes. He knows he should, he knows it's what Hongjoong needs. He knows he wasn't a good friend. He should apologize. 

It's better this way, he reminds himself constantly. It's better to not be attached. Eventually, you'll have to run away. Move on. 

Don't hurt him. Don't do this to him. 

And then, as if two weeks was a magical amount of time, Seonghwa is wandering to the window seat and crosses paths with Hongjoong. 

"Oh, it's you," says Hongjoong. He's tired, Seonghwa doesn't need to be an empath to know that. Hongjoong is so damn tired he doesn't even have the energy to ignore Seonghwa or be frustrated with him. 

"It's me," says Seonghwa, wincing at his own lack of tact.

"It's you," Hongjoong repeats, nodding his head in delirious agreement. "It's been a sec. Sorry about that." 

"Not your fault," Seonghwa responds automatically, Hongjoong shouldn't be the one apologizing. "I should be the one apologizing." 

"No, I pushed you too much," yawns Hongjoong, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes and leaving them there. "Should've been more considerate." 

"You did nothing wrong," Seonghwa insists. Hongjoong tilts slightly and Seonghwa's hands almost ghost up to steady the shorter. "Are you, are you okay?" 

"'M fine," mumbles Hongjoong, head hanging heavy in his hands. "Just need to write a ten-page paper by five o'clock tomorrow. 'M headed to the library." 

_ Exhaustion _ . 

And then, under it, a low howl-

_ Defeat _ . 

Don't hurt him. Don't do this to him. 

Seonghwa should nod wordlessly and let Hongjoong go on his way. That's what his survival instincts are telling him to do, that's what safest to do. Let their friendship drift apart naturally until Hongjoong barely remembers they were friends in the first place. 

Hongjoong looks like he's going to collapse. 

I can't let him do this to himself, Seonghwa realizes. I don't want to be so cruel.

Seonghwa leaves his survival instincts behind him. "You should sleep. You look dead on your feet."

"Don't have time to go back to the dorms-"

"Then don't. I know a place," Seonghwa begs. "It's just around the corner." 

"I have to work," Hongjoong protests. 

"Please, Hongjoong-ah," Seonghwa reaches for Hongjoong's hands, deaf to the shrieking of his fear, and pulls them away from Hongjoong's eyes. He holds Hongjoong's wrists in his hands. "Just an hour. For me." 

Hongjoong looks at Seonghwa tiredly, searches Seonghwa's eyes for something Seonghwa doesn't know and looks down at their hands. Hongjoong turns one wrist, breaking Seonghwa's grip and intertwining their fingers before Seonghwa can take his hand away. "Okay." 

So Seonghwa guides Hongjoong to the window seat, breathes a sigh of relief when Hongjoong throws himself across the battered cushions with a tired groan, and drapes his jacket over Hongjoong's torso when Hongjoong falls asleep not one minute later. 

For a moment, his survival instincts slam back into him full force and he debates running away. He's always running away. 

He curls up on the edge of the window seat with his laptop in his lap and flicks through readings. 

* * *

When Seonghwa said good-bye to his grandfather, his grandfather gave him a gift. 

" _ I love you _ ," his grandfather said and Seonghwa cried as he felt the power rushing over him. 

It's not like the other emotions. It's not so tangible.

But it's warm, so warm. It's enveloping. It's the silence offered by a star-specked sky. It's the weight of the "hello" whispered through lips curved in a content smile. It's a thousand comforts he'd never known. It's soft and strong, blooming in the center of his chest. It's safety and acceptance and warmth. 

It's love. 

When Seonghwa said good-bye to his grandfather, his grandfather gave him a heartbreakingly beautiful gift. 

The beauty to know what love is. 

The heartbreak to know if that is what love is, Seonghwa has never been loved by anyone else. He doubts he ever will. 

* * *

When Hongjoong wakes up two hours later, Seonghwa apologizes properly. Hongjoong will apologize too, no matter how many times Seonghwa insists it's inappropriate. They catch up, admit to missing the other and not getting enough work done, and mend their friendship until it's equal.

"I've never had a close friend before," Seonghwa admits in a moment of vulnerability. "It kind of scares me." 

Hongjoong hums as he processes Seonghwa's words. "You know that you deserve to have a close friend too, right?"

It hits too close to home and a laugh breaks through the remains of Seonghwa's survival instincts, strangled and small. "I'm a mess." 

Hongjoong laughs too, bright and warm. "Me too. We can be messes together." 

"Okay," Seonghwa says, the promise lingering in the back of his mind, "together," and stays by Hongjoong's side. 

* * *

Warmth is addicting. Love is addicting. Once Seonghwa had met it, once he had felt the brush of its fingers over his cheeks, he couldn't help but long for it. 

It's a pipe dream, but he wants to feel warm again. He wants to feel loved again. 

Maybe that's why he doesn't take the easy way out. Maybe that's why he continues to follow the miracle, continues to keep the promise. Maybe that's why he mends his friendship with Hongjoong. Maybe that's why he can't completely abandon the foolish notion he deserves better. 

He's not running towards the promise. He's not running towards the conflict. But he's not running away either. 

He stands in place, tilting in the cold wind of fear, and wonders what it's like to be warm. 

* * *

Something shifts between Hongjoong and Seonghwa after the window seat. 

When Hongjoong asks "do you want to hang out?" Seonghwa starts saying yes. He tries to say yes more, when he knows it will just be the two of them. He still says no when Hongjoong invites him out with others. He can't help it, he's not good with crowds, though he feels bad saying no to every group outing.

But Hongjoong isn't disappointed anymore. He offers to ditch his friends for Seonghwa, sometimes, and it always makes Seonghwa's heart beat faster. Seonghwa will say "you don't have to" and most of the time Hongjoong will say "I want to." Their friendship forges onward and grows stronger with each shared smile and honest word.

And there are days when Seonghwa can think of nothing but the Facts, feel nothing but his fear, and falls back into survival instincts and isolation. On those days, Hongjoong doesn't push. Sits next to Seonghwa without touching him, does work silently on the other end of the window seat, and leaves at the end of the day with a small wave and an unspoken farewell. In time, Seonghwa thinks of the promise, thinks of his grandfather, thinks of the warmth, and reminds himself that to keep the promise, to find the warmth, he can't let the Facts control him. So he takes a deep breath and tells himself he deserves to have a close friend till the panic subsides, even if he doesn't know if he believes himself. 

Something shifts between Hongjoong and Seonghwa after the window seat. Seonghwa doesn't know what it is exactly, but the loneliness doesn't crush him quite as hard, so he's not upset about it. 

* * *

Fear is a familiar notion to the empath in more ways than one. There is the fear the empath feels from others, constant and pressing when the truth comes out, and there is the fear they hold in their hearts. 

If Seonghwa had to choose which was worse, he wouldn't know which to pick. Nothing hurts more than being feared by others, but nothing holds him back more than the fear of being discovered, the fear of snapping out, the fear of their fear. The talons of fear form the steely bars of a formidable cage. 

Seonghwa learned to live under the constant tremor of fear. 

But spending time with Hongjoong, learning to laugh with Hongjoong, simply being with Hongjoong- 

Seonghwa spends most days thinking he's fallen deep into a dream, one that's far more kind and warm than the dreams he's used to having. In the dream, the fear of Hongjoong discovering the truth, learning Fact One, doesn't consume Seonghwa, the idea of Hongjoong leaving is so far from the realm of possibility it's laughable. The world doesn't press on Seonghwa's shoulders quite so much, the Facts don't dictate his every breath.

Everything is just Hongjoong, Hongjoong, Hongjoong: eyes crinkling with each smile, gasping laugh and stuttering breaths, small shows of trust through quiet anxieties confessed in passing, hands dragged over faces and through hair and across Seonghwa's shoulders with whispers of "let's live a little." Everything beautiful and new and wondrous. 

"Let's go," says Hongjoong, his hand outstretched. 

Seonghwa reaches for Hongjoong's hand through the claws of fear and whispers, "Okay, let's go." 

* * *

There are two halves to being an empath. 

The first half is the radar, the sonar, the sensory something that allows an empath to understand the emotions of the people around them. It's ever-present, always constant, and turning it off completely is beyond the scope of most empaths' abilities. Physical proximity, as well as emotional proximity, increases the "volume" of the emotion, and repetition increases an empath's understanding of the emotion.

The second half is a little more complicated, a little more intricate, and a lot more dangerous. The second half is the half that feeds into Fact Two, that resolves in Fact Three. 

Officially, the second half is called Emotion Manipulation. Emotion Manipulation is defined as an unwelcome emotional intrusion that forces the individual to feel differently than they originally did. 

What this definition means is that any time an empath uses their power on someone else, any time at all, they risk being arrested. Even if there's proof of consent, even if the empath has consensually used their power on the individual a hundred times before, if the individual wants to, all they have to do is say the word and the empath will be dragged away without question. 

What this definition means is that Seonghwa has only used his power on three people his entire life, his parents and his grandfather, and everything else had to be poured into something else. A plant, a dog, a fish, anything, even though it never feels quite right. 

Because what having a power means is that if Seonghwa doesn't act on the second half of being an empath, his power will atrophy to collapse and his body will too. 

* * *

Time passes and Seonghwa spends his time studying with Hongjoong in the window seat. It's their place now. It goes unspoken that at the end of the day they'll find each other in the window seat and spend their evenings together. Most of the time, they get dinner together. It's nice. 

It's nice, except Seonghwa is still a college student and Hongjoong is too, so they can't really afford to eat out as often as they do. Then Hongjoong finds out Seonghwa lives alone in an apartment off-campus (because Seonghwa in the dorms is a disaster waiting to happen, though he doesn't mention that) that has a semi-decent kitchen and asks "can we cook dinner at yours?" 

And Seonghwa has never been able to say no to Hongjoong. Not that he really wants to. 

"It's not much," Seonghwa warns when he brings Hongjoong to his apartment the next day. "But it's enough." 

It's a one-room, a studio, that Seonghwa is always sure to keep tidy and clean with nothing ever left out. The window seal isn't great so there's a bit of a draft, which is fine for now but will become a problem when winter rolls around. Seonghwa's bed is tucked into the corner and there's a short table large enough for Seonghwa to do his work on when he sits on the ground. There's a collection of a dozen or so plants Seonghwa keeps both for aesthetic purposes and sanity purposes that sprawl neatly over the available surfaces. The kitchen is small, tiny really, but large enough for the two of them to squeeze in as long as they don't mind their hipbones pressing together while they cook. There are prints on the wall of the ocean, the mountains, peaceful landscapes that stretch on forever under the low lighting that warms the small room. 

It's kind of a lot, to have Hongjoong in a space that is so obviously and intimately Seonghwa. Fear takes over Seonghwa for a moment because he has never been so close with someone before and it's almost terrifying how much of his life he is willing to share with Hongjoong. 

"I like it," says Hongjoong, soft and fond. He turns on his heel, slowly nodding as he takes in the studio and Seonghwa's place in it. "It's perfect. It suits you." 

"Is that a compliment?" says Seonghwa, banter foreign on his tongue. He doesn't deliver it quite right, it's not as easy-going or teasing as it should be. It's a little too honest, a little too desperate, and Seonghwa winces at his own delivery. 

"It is," laughs Hongjoong. His fondness blasts in Seonghwa's ears. "It's cozy and comforting. It feels like a home. It suits you, Hwa." 

The 'thank you' dies on Seonghwa's lips, a small huff of air all he's able to manage, and Hongjoong smiles at him. 

"Naengmyeon time?" he asks. 

"Nanengmyeon time," Seonghwa breathes. He bites the corner of his lip to keep himself from smiling back as they work in his tiny kitchen, hip bones pressed together, and make far more noodles than they can eat together. 

* * *

Fear is a familiar notion to Seonghwa. Seonghwa has lived with fear his entire life: from his teachers, from his family, from himself. Everyone who knows about him fears him. 

Even the president, though she swallows her fear to talk to Seonghwa every time. 

Even his father, though he was the one to bring Seonghwa into this world and into this fate. 

Even his grandfather. 

His grandfather, Seonghwa knows, held a different kind of fear towards Seonghwa. Something Seonghwa learned after his third visit, when his power was growing exponentially and his control was far from perfect. Everyone else fears the empath Seonghwa is now, but his grandfather feared the empath Seonghwa could become. 

Seonghwa fears the empath he could become too. 

* * *

Finals come and go and Hongjoong invites Seonghwa out drinking with some other first-years to celebrate the end of the semester. Seonghwa politely refuses. They make plans to have dinner together before Hongjoong goes out instead. 

"I swear, I thought I was going to die," Hongjoong laughs, recounting their psychology final as they trek up the stairs to Seonghwa's apartment, arms laden with grocery bags. "Hwa, I was definitely seconds from actually dying."

"That seems unlikely," says Seonghwa softly, his lips twitching up in a secret smile at Hongjoong's antics. They round the corner for the final flight of stairs. 

"You're ignoring my suffering!" argues Hongjoong, turning back slightly to glare at Seonghwa, so obviously fighting back a smile. "That essay section was deadly." 

"We have very different definitions of deadly." 

"Rude!"

Seonghwa laughs, still not entirely used to the sensation. Hongjoong laughs as well, reaching back to push Seonghwa's shoulder lightly, and then sprinting ahead up the last few stairs. Hauling his bags higher into the air, Seonghwa pounds up the stairs after Hongjoong. He feels a little breathless and barely looks up in time to stop before crashing into Hongjoong, who is stopped a few meters away from Seonghwa's door. 

"Hwa," whispers Hongjoong, glancing up at Seonghwa. "I think you have a visitor?" 

Standing past Hongjoong in front of Seonghwa's door is someone Seonghwa didn't think he would ever see again, staring at Hongjoong and Seonghwa with wide eyes and a high tremor. 

_ Fear _ .

"Abeoji?" 

"Seonghwa," says his father. "It's been a while." 

* * *

His father is the only person from his family that bothers to keep in touch. 

His mother was glad to have him finally move out. His siblings had never trusted him. His father was the same in many ways, happy to have the empath gone and suspicious of what the empath could do, but his father has sympathy. 

Seonghwa knows his father has sympathy. He can hear it, cooing softly under the wavering bass of guilt. 

There were times where Seonghwa wanted to scream at his father, because his father is the reason Seonghwa turned out this way. It was his father's genetics, his father's father, that made Seonghwa an empath. That made him an outcast. It's because of his father that he lives his life in fear. 

At the end of the day, however, his father is still a father. His father feels guilty for having handed Seonghwa this life and sympathy for someone who can never know what it means to truly belong. His father pays for his apartment and messages him every now and then, just to make sure he's alive and out of jail. His father sends him a small allowance, not even enough to get by, but the most his father can send without raising his mother's suspicion. His father does a lot of little things for Seonghwa to make up for everything else. 

Seonghwa is thankful for his father. After his grandfather, his father is the closest thing he has to someone who loves him. 

* * *

When Hongjoong has left, a good two hours later after awkward introductions and small talk and dinner because his father didn't want to ruin their plans, Seonghwa scrubs at dinner dishes while his father nurses lukewarm tea at Seonghwa's low table. A soft sigh from his father prompts Seonghwa to peer up through his curtain of messy hair and stare at the steam rising from the teacup his father has placed his palm flat against. 

"Thank you," says Seonghwa quietly, casting his eyes downward and scrubbing determinedly at the bowl in hand. "For not interrogating him." 

"He doesn't know?" is all his father says in response. 

"No."

"I see," says his father, drawn-out and thoughtful. "How long have you two been friends?"

Seonghwa's heart thunders in his chest. "Since the start of term, but we've only grown close in the last month or so." 

He waits for it. Waits for the questions his father always used to ask before Seonghwa stopped trying to have friends. Has Hongjoong asked? What rank is he? What power does he have? Does he know about your grandfather? How close is he to finding out the truth? How safe are you?

And of course, 

"Do you trust him?" 

Somewhere in the back of Seonghwa's mind, he knows the stain at the bottom of this bowl has always been here and he shouldn't scrub so hard at it. Still he scrubs and scrubs, eyes burning into the stain as he ignores his father's question. 

"Seonghwa-ya..."

He scrubs furiously. 

"Do you trust him?" 

The bowl slips from Seonghwa's grip under the force of his scrubbing and breaks against the bottom of the sink. 

"I don't know," Seonghwa says, caught between a shout and a whimper. "I just, I don't know, okay?" 

"Seonghwa-ya, you know how it is," his father insists, immediately standing up and approaching Seonghwa, the alarm bells of caution blaring loud and clear. "If you can't trust this Hongjoong completely, you shouldn't get too close. He could end you." 

"I know," whispers Seonghwa. He squeezes his eyes shut and leans into the sink, arms submerged in suds from the elbow down. The tension stretches between them, the soft sound of his father stopping in front of the sink and putting his teacup down on the counter all Seonghwa can hear over the sound of his pounding heart. 

"Please be careful," says his father. "That's all I ask." 

"I know," repeats Seonghwa. "I'm trying to be careful. I just..."

I think I need him. 

"I just want a friend." 

Seonghwa focuses on picking up the large shards of the broken bowl out of the suds, fingers tracing the sharp edges. His father exhales, breath fanning on top of Seonghwa's hand. 

"Okay," his father says, reaching through the fear and placing a careful hand on Seonghwa's head, softly twisting his fingers through the strands of Seonghwa's hair. "One friend. As long as you're safe." 

"Thank you," Seonghwa breathes. 

A beat and then- "Give them to me?" 

And Seonghwa could cry with gratitude. " _ Please _ ."

The pain and fear and hopelessness fade to echoes for a moment as his father takes them on and the relief of using his power properly blooms in Seonghwa's chest. 

* * *

Here's the thing about the second half of being an empath: 

The better the empath understands the emotion they're manipulating, the more control they have over the manipulation. The more familiar the emotion is, the more say the empath has in the intensity. 

It's why anger, fear, and hatred are so easy for so many empaths, because anger, fear, and hatred are all so many empaths are given over the course of their lives. It's why comfort is harder to give and happiness even more challenging. 

It's why empaths always lash out with the most violent emotions when they snap. 

Violence is all they know. 

* * *

In the earliest days of being an empath, when Seonghwa was still naive and hopeful, he tried to give emotions to his family. Simple things child Seonghwa could understand. He heard the brassy anger of his mother and the wavering guilt of his father, the high tremor of fear resounding in both of them, and tried to give them happier feelings. 

His mother screamed at him to never do it again. 

But that's not how being an empath works, that's not how having a power works. To not exercise his power when he can is as good as suicide, so he had to learn differently. 

Most days when Seonghwa feels the burning ache from not using his power, he'll whisper his feelings to his plants. He used to have fish and a whole lot of them, but his fish always died if he gave them too much. So he sticks with plants, always has and always will, and watches them droop or blossom depending on what he says over time. 

But occasionally, growing up, if Seonghwa was drowning in the pain of only using his power on fish and flora, his father would consent to let Seonghwa use his power and give away his emotions. The fact that, after all this time, his father will still consent to shoulder Seonghwa's pain if only for a moment means more to Seonghwa than he will ever be able to convey. 

"It's not as crushing as before," his father wheezes afterward, blinking away words of comfort. "You're doing better." 

"Maybe," says Seonghwa, setting a new cup of tea in front of his father. 

"Your friend?" asks his father. 

Seonghwa trails a finger along the edge of the table, shrugging noncommittally. "Perhaps." 

"Definitely," says his father. "He's good for you." Seonghwa says nothing and his father places a hand on Seonghwa's knee, careful pressure that grounds Seonghwa. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to be happy, Seonghwa-ya. There's nothing wrong with admitting that he makes you happier." 

"What if he leaves?" the question bursts from Seonghwa in an explosion of insecurity. "What if he finds out and turns on me? What if I have to run again?" 

"You'll cross that bridge when you get to it," says his father. "You've always done what you need to do to survive. 

"I don't think you would have let yourself become so close to him if you didn't need him to live." 

* * *

His father leaves him the next day, early in the afternoon after letting Seonghwa use his power twice more. Seonghwa waves good-bye to his father, his body light and mind heavy. 

There's nothing wrong with wanting to be happy, whispers his father. 

There's nothing wrong with wanting to be loved, whispers his grandfather. 

Seonghwa  _ wants.  _

* * *

Hongjoong pulls Seonghwa out. Pulls Seonghwa out to food carts and music stores and carnivals as summer ripens. Pulls Seonghwa out of his fear and survival instincts and resistance. Pulls Seonghwa out of his persona and into a real person. With Hongjoong by his side, Seonghwa is learning what it means to be himself and what it means to live in the world around him. 

A life of hiding in plain sight and peeking through the prison bars of fear means that so much is new to Seonghwa. He can't hide his amazement with each new thing Hongjoong introduces. 

He stares after Hongjoong in wonder every time. Wonders if he can even begin to deserve having a friend this good in his life. 

"Do you think you could ever fear me?" falls from his lips one summer night, carnival lights spilling over their features. 

Hongjoong looks up from the elephant ear he's carefully folding in bemusement that quickly fades to seriousness. 

"No," says Hongjoong, lowering his hands and looking at Seonghwa carefully. "I don't think so. Should I fear you?" 

"Probably," whispers Seonghwa. 

Hongjoong nods, looking thoughtful. Carefully, he takes one of Seonghwa's hands in his and passes the elephant ear to Seonghwa. "Try it." 

Seonghwa brings the treat to his lips and takes a small bite. His mouth explodes in cinnamon sugar and the warmth of the fried dough. It's incredible, he could eat ten of these in a heartbeat. 

"I could never fear you," says Hongjoong softly. "I know there's a lot you keep from me, and that's okay. I don't need to know everything about you, I know enough to know that you're a good person."

"I..."

"You have stars in your eyes, did you know?" smiles Hongjoong. "When you react to things, it's like you have stars in your eyes. It makes me happy to see you like that. You make me happy." 

Seonghwa freezes and nearly drops the elephant ear, completely unprepared for Hongjoong's confession. His heart thunders in his chest and he stares at Hongjoong wide-eyed. 

"What?" 

"Is it really that surprising?" Hongjoong counters with the hint of a laugh. "Beginning of our friendship notwithstanding, I don't think I've ever had a friendship where I feel so comfortable. It's easy to be happy when I'm with you." 

"Oh," Seonghwa says cleverly, all other words ceasing to exist. Never in a million years did Seonghwa think he was one of the things making Hongjoong feel happy. 

"Yeah," Hongjoong grabs Seonghwa's hand, holding the elephant ear steady as he leans over to take a bite. He winks at Seonghwa as he swallows. "Oh." 

With a final smile, Hongjoong turns and walks ahead, calling out that they should spend as much time as possible playing carnival games before they return to the horror that is preparing for the second semester to begin, and Seonghwa stares after him.

Hongjoong isn't afraid of him. 

He makes Hongjoong happy. 

Seonghwa presses his lips closed, tears in the back of his throat, and jogs after Hongjoong with his head ducked down as he tries to fight back the wide smile working its way across his face. 

Hongjoong makes him happy too. 


	3. Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternatively titled: the warmth (a thousand comforts)
> 
> cw: panic attacks, allusions to mental health illnesses, embodying of violent emotions, descriptions of discrimination

> Each empath has a different way of using their empathic powers, some by mere thought, a number by touch, the most powerful by voice. Seonghwa falls into the final category. 
> 
> It's not a good thing. Powerful empaths, strong empaths, can get executed if they're not careful. 
> 
> Empaths who speak feelings into being are capable of being much more subtle when they use their power. Powerful empaths can present only the hint of an emotion, so well-hidden that it feels natural. It's a far more dangerous and invasive form of Emotion Manipulation warranting a far more fatal sentence. 
> 
> So empaths whose words are imbued with power are thrice as careful as the average empath and work thrice as hard to keep their power under lock and key. They speak as little as possible, because if they don't speak then they can't be accused of using their power. 
> 
> Seonghwa spends his life sharing as few words as possible, speaking when spoken to, saying just enough to not raise suspicion. He holds his words on his tongue, has a heart attack every time something accidentally slips past his lips, and knows he will do this for the rest of his life. 

They always find out. This is something Seonghwa knows to be absolutely true. 

There is no outrunning this. There is no escaping this absolute. Everything in his life will always boil down to this one defining reality. 

They always find out. 

Hongjoong will find out, it's only a matter of time. This is something Seonghwa knows to be absolutely true. 

All he can do is enjoy the time with Hongjoong that he has. 

* * *

Autumn strokes the hand of summer and lures it towards slumber. School begins anew and Seonghwa doesn't have classes with Hongjoong anymore. 

"You're stuck with me, you know that, right?" says Hongjoong, legs crossed beneath him and knees pressing into Seonghwa's hip. The drama is still playing on the laptop in front of them, but Hongjoong's gaze is fixed on Seonghwa. "We're still going to study together and cook dinner and make sure the other doesn't become a complete mess."

He doesn't know what he'd do without Hongjoong. 

"Yeah, yeah," he attempts to joke. "I'll never get rid of you." 

"Never," smiles Hongjoong, knocking their shoulders together. "Besides, you like me too much to get rid of me." 

There's nothing wrong with wanting to be happy, Seonghwa reminds himself. There's nothing wrong with being happy with Hongjoong.

It's okay to want this. 

* * *

Seonghwa thinks it speaks volumes of the president that she doesn't ask him to drop psychology and switch to another subject. That she lets an empath, a potentially powerful empath at that, continue to study the human mind when that information could so easily be misused. 

"You have yet to give me a reason to not trust you," the president says to him. "Work hard, Park Seonghwa-ssi, and the world will be ready for you someday."

Seonghwa thinks it speaks volumes of the president that even though she fears him and probably always will, she continues to swallow her fear and apprehension to trust him. It makes him think that maybe, just maybe, the promise isn't as impossible as it feels. 

* * *

He sits in a discussion section every week on Wednesday. It lasts till eight in the evening and every time, Hongjoong is outside the door waiting for him. 

"Let's get dinner," smiles Hongjoong, fond and happy and relieved every time. "My treat?" 

"Okay," says Seonghwa and he learns to speak up a little bit more each week. 

Hongjoong pulls Seonghwa to convenience stores and noodle stalls and tteokbokki stands and street corners decorated with skewers. He blocks Seonghwa's chopsticks from taking the last of the side dishes with his own and they play rock-paper-scissors when they argue over who gets to pay. 

The walls guarding Seonghwa's heart melt a little with every laugh. He shares bits and pieces of his life with Hongjoong, the mother he doesn't have a relationship with and the multitude of schools he's transferred through. He confesses his fascination with ASMR and that he types at the speed of a turtle. Hongjoong listens, chin propped up on his fist, grinning and asking all the right questions at all the right times and sharing his own life with Seonghwa. 

"You know that you're my best friend, right?" says Hongjoong when Seonghwa confesses how he never had friends as a child and worries he's not a good friend now. "Like, very possibly the best friend I've ever had." 

Seonghwa didn't know, but now that he knows he's happy. "You're my best friend too." 

Hongjoong winks dramatically and leans over to steal a spoonful of rice from Seonghwa's bowl. Seonghwa blocks the spoon and scoops up the rice, stuffing it in his mouth. Hongjoong howls in protest and Seonghwa thinks that friendship might be the greatest thing in the world. 

* * *

Seonghwa isn't afraid of touching people, but he's certainly wary of it.

Even if he controls his power through his voice, he knows the effects can be amplified through touch. It's universal for most empaths. Proximity and physical contact are incredibly effective amplifiers. 

Once his power presented, he was rarely hugged. He did not receive encouraging head pats or fingers tickling his sides. He did not hold hands with his parents and was told not to with his classmates, he has never been kissed. 

There is a part of him that craves touch. 

Hongjoong falls into his lap in the window seat, work thrown to the opposite end, face buried in Seonghwa's stomach. Hongjoong wraps his arms around Seonghwa's torso, mutters something that might be 'five minutes,' and is asleep in seconds. 

Seonghwa gently rests a hand on Hongjoong's head and lets his fingers weave through Hongjoong's hair. He bites back a smile. 

Something old and warped begins to unravel in his chest. His heart is not as heavy, his lungs are not so battered. He wonders what to call the warmth blossoming in his core. 

You make me happy, he never says. You make me so incredibly happy. 

* * *

In one of his psychology courses, the professor talks about the impacts of self-talk. 

"It's not that reality shapes you, but the lens through which your brains views the world that shapes your reality," the professor reads from the text. "Daily positive self-talk is one of the ways that we can change the lens through which we see the world. I would challenge you to try listing three things you are grateful for, or even three things you find beautiful, each day for the next month and see just how it impacts your perspective." 

(There is a part of Seonghwa that wants to argue with the professor because maybe that is how it is for most humans but that is not how it is for empaths.) 

"Truly," the professor says before anyone can complain. She holds Seonghwa's eyes warily. "You would be surprised at the impact words can have."

If anyone knows that, it's Seonghwa. 

That afternoon he buys a small plum tree bonsai. He places it directly in the middle of the low table that serves as his dining table, coffee table, and desk and thinks of beautiful things. 

" _The sound of a tteokbokki cart closing for the night_ ," he says to the bonsai. " _Iced Americanos with syrup in the middle of summer_." 

His phone buzzes. A text asking when he'll be at the window seat.

" _Friendship_ ," he whispers to the bonsai, a smile breaking across his face.

He tells himself that there is nothing wrong with wanting to be happy. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be loved. There is nothing wrong with being friends with Hongjoong. 

He tells himself that he deserves good things too, even if he doesn't quite believe it. 

* * *

Before Hongjoong, Seonghwa was the silhouette of a person. Visible but not tangible. There was no substance to him and the things he said, there was only the recognizable illusion of normality. 

"What do you think about this?" asks Hongjoong, showing Seonghwa the introduction of an essay. 

Honesty is gradually becoming less and less foreign to him. Being genuine is more and more familiar. 

He has things to say. 

"I feel like your thesis could be more direct," Seonghwa responds. He points as he speaks. "Look, if you flip the structure of this sentence..."

Hongjoong listens. 

* * *

The better the empath understands the emotion they're manipulating, the more control they have over the manipulation. The more familiar the emotion is, the more say the empath has in the intensity. 

Fourteen years old, his power growing exponentially and fear consuming his heart. 

"Theoretically," his grandfather explains. "If the empath were more familiar with kindness and happiness and love, that would be what they are strongest at manipulating. But empaths haven't been given such emotions for a very long time and it's unlikely to change any time soon." 

"Does the empath have to experience it themselves?" asks Seonghwa. "Can they learn it even if they've never felt it?"

"Perhaps," his grandfather says. "I've never tried." 

Seonghwa used to spend hours trying to find and learn emotions from the outside world. He would go through dozens of calming playlists, sunrises over oceans and ASMR and soothing pop songs. He would read countless books, let himself get lost in the characters and their trials and take their feelings as his own. He would work hard in school to learn what it meant to feel proud of his grades (of himself). Seonghwa used to spend every day seeking warmer emotions. 

Now, he learns to live with Hongjoong's help and finds a thousand comforts in the mundane. 

He thinks of his fear, the fear of what he could become. 

And he tells himself that if he stays with Hongjoong, if he keeps these warmer emotions close to his heart, if he is more than frustration and anger and hatred and scorn, then maybe he won't become the empath he fears he could be.

* * *

There is so much to the song of Hongjoong's being. Hongjoong feels so, so much. Seonghwa has never met someone who feels as complexly and unapologetically as Hongjoong does. 

Sometimes, Hongjoong loses it. 

(It's not something Seonghwa entirely understands, because to him Hongjoong is so perfect and wonderful and beautiful, but he respects that it may not be that way to Hongjoong. He can grasp some corner of understanding, because Hongjoong looks at Seonghwa far more kindly than Seonghwa looks at himself.)

At first, Hongjoong hides it. He seems ashamed of it. This, inarguably, is worse for Seonghwa because he can hear how terrible Hongjoong feels and he can't do anything about it because Hongjoong hides behind an impenetrable wall of sass and smiles. 

But sometimes there are moments when Hongjoong doesn't move, where his hands sit on the keyboard of his laptop and his eyes stay fixed on the blinking cursor. He does not shift, he does not twitch, and sometimes Seonghwa thinks he is not breathing entirely. 

And Hongjoong feels _miserable_. 

In time, Hongjoong can move again. He flicks a finger out violently, draws his hands away from the keyboard in stilted movements. Shuts his eyes, steeples his hands, and breathes heavily. 

(“Fuck,” he’ll whisper and Seonghwa thinks about how much weight a word can carry.)

Hongjoong never waits long before returning to work, determination burning loud as if it can drown out the howling of misery. Hongjoong, Seonghwa realizes, would work himself into the ground. 

“Hey,” he says in time. He ghosts a touch against Hongjoong’s elbow. “Hongjoong-ah?” 

Hongjoong feels terrible. Hongjoong will work himself into the ground. 

Seonghwa will not Hongjoong do this to himself. 

“Let me help,” he says quietly. 

There are stars in Hongjoong’s eyes sometimes. There is tiredness pulling on the edges of Hongjoong’s being, there is exhaustion trying to drown him. 

“I’ll be okay,” says Hongjoong and Seonghwa does not call him out on the lie even though he desperately wants to. “Just stay with me.” 

Sometimes, Hongjoong loses it. Sometimes there are panic attacks. Sometimes there are moments when Hongjoong doesn’t move and the misery wails and wails, begging for relief. 

In time, Seonghwa reaches through his fear and gently pulls Hongjoong’s hands off the keyboard. He shuts the laptop, guides Hongjoong into leaning against the wall or his shoulder, and strokes his thumb rhythmically against the pulse point at Hongjoong’s wrist. 

"I'll stay," he says, so quiet that it's nothing more than a wisp in the wind. 

There is so much to the song of Hongjoong’s being. The misery never fades completely, but sometimes it doesn’t howl quite as loud as it did before. 

* * *

"You make me happy," says the echo of Hongjoong each time Seonghwa begins to fall into fear. 

"Oh," the echo of Seonghwa says cleverly and the smile he tries to hide catches him before he can fall. 

* * *

At times, it floors Seonghwa how fond Hongjoong is of him. He hears the fondness and the affection ringing from Hongjoong and thinks it cannot be for him, but there is no one else around for it to be for. 

There is no one else around for it to be for and Hongjoong is always there. Waltzing up to the window seat with a shit-eating grin, waiting outside Seonghwa's discussion section with a soft smile, crashing into Seonghwa's side as they fight over which drama to watch that weekend. 

At one point, the girl who sits three seats down from Seonghwa during the discussion section coyly asks him if Hongjoong is his boyfriend. It surprises Seonghwa so much that he accidentally throws his notebook halfway across the room while trying to say no, no he is not, no they are not, and the girl only laughs. 

"You two look good together," the girl teases. "Very domestic." 

And before Seonghwa can argue that really, it isn't like that, Hongjoong is stepping forward and winding their arms together with complaints about the cold wind and he cannot believe he left his scarf at Seonghwa's. The girl winks at Seonghwa and he cannot stop the blush that spreads to his ears. 

* * *

(The night welcomes Seonghwa with familiar heaviness and he stares at the ceiling. He thinks of romance and lust and first loves and relationships. They are foreign notions to him, they are concepts he has never been allowed to feel and only recognizes because of their prevalence in culture. 

He tries to convince himself that romantic relationships are no friend to empaths and cannot because his grandfather found a burning love that could rival the heart of a star. 

The night washes over Seonghwa and he stares at his ceiling and allows himself to think, just for a moment, that he wouldn't mind familiarizing himself with those notions if he got to do it with Hongjoong.

" _In another life_ ," he whispers to the night and the plum tree bonsai. " _I could learn_ _to love him_."

But no matter how curious he is about foreign notions, no matter how much he aches and wants to be loved, he could never say that he deserves any of it. He does not believe that he is owed such beautiful creatures.

He already has this friendship with Hongjoong and Hongjoong is more than Seonghwa will ever be worthy of.)

* * *

Seonghwa is an empath. Seonghwa is an empath and the Facts still have their place even if he forgets to think of them more and more often and they always find out.

Seonghwa is everybody and nobody and people grow suspicious of the boy that never shows his power or mentions his rank off-hand. Their curiosity booms and with it the seed of doubt cries until it blooms into mistrust. They ask questions he's learned to gracefully avoid until they find some version of the truth or ask him outright. He cannot lie and will not tell the truth. 

Instead, he runs and knows that deep down, they know too. 

Hongjoong will find out. All Seonghwa can do is enjoy the time with Hongjoong that he has and pray that Hongjoong never asks. 

Because if Hongjoong asked, Seonghwa might actually answer.

* * *

Hongjoong falls apart and comes together and cracks and heals and cycles through a hundred tumbling emotions. Hongjoong peels away the layers of his life and breathes a dozen simple sentences with heavy implications. Seonghwa stays by Hongjoong's side, takes on each burden and anxiety, and smooths his thumb over Hongjoong's wrist. 

"I'll be okay," whispers Hongjoong and Seonghwa does not ever call him out on that lie. Seonghwa does not tell Hongjoong what they both already know, that there are some wounds not even time can mend. 

And Seonghwa knows that there are things empaths can do that time cannot. 

* * *

Sometimes, Hongjoong loses it. Sometimes he has panic attacks. Sometimes there is too much and Hongjoong is only human. 

Each cry pierces Seonghwa's chest. Seeing Hongjoong so upset, so desperate, so defeated hurts Seonghwa to his very core. He holds Hongjoong in his arms, wipes away the tears and snot with trembling fingers and soft touches. He unlocks his tongue and lets the words tumble from his mouth in the hopes it will help. 

"I've got you, Joong, I've got you. Just let it out, it's gonna be okay-"

There are some things that should never be felt. 

"I've got you, I'm here. You're safe-"

Hongjoong is hyperventilating. 

"It's going to be okay, you're going to be okay. Deep breathes Joong, please. Please, breathe Hongjoong-ah, I know it's hard, but please-"

He snaps. 

" _Breathe for me, Hongjoong-ah. It's going to be okay. Take a deep breath, okay? I'll do it with you. You're safe, I'm here._ "

* * *

Fourteen years old, his power growing exponentially. 

A trick few empaths bother mastering. 

"When you manipulate the emotion," the ghost of his grandfather tells him. "Only do it halfway. Keep it soft. Use indirect language. Instead of forcing the feeling itself, instead of focusing on what you hear with the given emotion, think of the moments you've felt that way instead. Small things, nothing too big. The ghost of a familiar feeling." 

A reminder of the emotion rather than a demand. 

A thousand comforts he thought he didn't know. 

* * *

Seonghwa snaps and the familiar arms of Fear wrap around his shoulders. Fear is a friend, he believes, Fear has never led him astray. 

Hatred pulls itself from Fear and together they coil around his throat and pull the air from his lungs. Panic cracks the whip of urgency and his survival instincts tell him that this is what happens when he tries to leave them. 

They say, you tried to leave us and you snapped. You snapped and succumbed to the inherent evil of your power. You manipulated his emotions without asking. You did not get consent, you did not explain yourself, you invaded him and let your power take over without question. 

They say, you have become the empath you feared and it is only a matter of time before you lose control again and snap once more. 

They say, run. 

They say, run. Run or you will hurt him. 

Seonghwa does not know where he is, but he throws himself forward. In the mortal world, his body collides with another and sends both crashing down to the ground. Seonghwa pays no mind and scrambles over the other body. 

The body grabs his ankle and yanks hard. There is no grace in the way Seonghwa hits the floor and some insignificant voice in the din of Fear and Hatred and Panic tells him that he nearly bit through his lip. But there is no time for this, there is no time for any of this, he needs to run. 

And then his body is stretching and his insides are in a blender and nothing is the right way up. They yell at him to run and he cannot, there is something holding his body down and pinning his wrists to the floor. 

They say, why can you never run fast enough? 

Look at me, a new thing says. Hwa, breathe for me. 

They say, your very breaths are numbered. 

Look at me, the new thing begs. Listen to me. Come back to me. 

They say, you do not deserve a place in the world. 

It's just me, says the new thing. It's just me. I'm not afraid of you. 

And Panic cannot crack the whip. The fingers of Fear begin to falter in their hold.

I'm not afraid of you, the new thing repeats. "I'm not afraid of you." 

There is a universe in Hongjoong's eyes and inky air evaporating around them. 

"Come back to me," Hongjoong whispers and Seonghwa's demons begin to burn. "I could never be afraid of you." 

* * *

Night stretches heavy. Hongjoong lies in Seonghwa's bed and Seonghwa lies in Hongjoong's lap. Hongjoong rakes his fingers through Seonghwa's hair. They could not move if they wanted to. 

"I'm an empath."

Hongjoong does not stop raking his fingers through Seonghwa's hair. "Okay."

"I'm a monster."

"No, you aren't." 

"I-"

"You are Park Seonghwa. You are 19 years old. You are 178 cm tall."

Seonghwa does not dare to speak. 

"You are my best friend. You held me when I cried and cheered me on when I flew. You fight me for the bill every time we go out to eat. You sit in the window seat of the psychology building six days a week. You drink iced americanos with seven pumps of syrup. You can eat an entire bowl of convenience store ramen in a single bite. You have stars in your eyes when you discover something new. 

"You are an empath. None of these things make you a monster. You are no more a monster than any of us are."

Hongjoong's hand pauses in its path across Seonghwa's scalp and trails down against the curve of his cheek to gently tilt his face towards Hongjoong. Hongjoong looks at Seonghwa like he is beautiful. 

"Anyone can become a monster," Hongjoong tells him. "That's what it means to have a power. Our powers are gifts and they are curses and we have no say in them. Your power does not make you a monster."

"What am I?" he whispers. 

Hongjoong smiles, soft and sad. "Human."

Seonghwa thinks of the weight a word can hold. 

"Oh," says Seonghwa. I forgot, he does not say. 

"Yeah," breathes Hongjoong. His eyes do not leave Seonghwa's. "Oh." 

* * *

A week passes and there is no fear in Hongjoong's song. 

"You're stuck with me, you know that, right?" says Hongjoong. There is a drama playing on the laptop. Hongjoong only has eyes for Seonghwa. His thumb brushes against Seonghwa's wrist. "We're still going to study together and cook dinner and make sure the other doesn't become a complete mess." 

Fear and Hatred and Panic still sink their claws into Seonghwa. His survival instincts spurn them on. 

"I know," he whispers and closes his eyes when Hongjoong brushes his hair out of his face. "Together."

* * *

Winter petulantly pulls the folds of autumn closed. Hongjoong says, "You don't have to tell me anything." 

"I know," Seonghwa says. "I want to tell you everything."

And so he does. 

There are the Facts that govern his life. There are the survival instincts that shape his non-being. There is the fear that lives deep in his heart. There is the family that never truly loved him and the grandfather that was never given a true opportunity to. There are children that shoved him against the asphalt. There are the two parts of being an empath, the insanity of one and the cruelty of the other. There are dying plants that overwhelm his apartment and pictures of sunsets and lakes still hung on the walls. There are years of running away from a single word. There is a lifetime of loneliness. 

There is the promise that sits in his chest. There is the child of fire who takes on his pain. There is the president and her miracle. There is the small plum tree bonsai in the middle of the table. 

There is Hongjoong. 

"I can't take away your suffering," Hongjoong says to him. "And you can't take away mine." 

Seonghwa could and they both know this. 

"It's not yours to take," Hongjoong says before Seonghwa can protest. "It's my burden, it's my battle. I won't let you take it because it's something I need to do for myself. It's the same with you." 

"I can't do it without you," says Seonghwa. 

"Just because I can't fight your battles for you doesn't mean I won't support you through them and help you as best I can," smiles Hongjoong. "I know you'll do the same for me." 

There is nothing Seonghwa can say to that. 

"So," Hongjoong leans into his hand and gives a Cheshire smile. "Tell me about the plum tree bonsai." 

"An idea I had in psychology," Seonghwa starts to explain, pulling the beautiful experiment towards them. "Three positive things a day..."

* * *

_I deserve to be happy;_

_I deserve to be loved;_

_I deserve to be human_.

The plum tree bonsai grows. 

* * *

Seonghwa thought he told Hongjoong everything, but sometimes everything has more to tell. Sometimes everything contains multitudes and it was foolish of Seonghwa to ever think being an empath was so straightforward. There is more than the struggle he has inside himself, there is so much more. 

Horror is not something Seonghwa hears often, but with each multitude of everything that unfolds itself, he hears it once more. 

It starts with a refusal to go to therapy because there is no therapist who will treat him. It expands to an explanation of the various natures of empathic powers and his voice. It spirals into the flag on the identification card he always has to present, the doctors who have not told him he needs to update his vaccines, the teachers who have spit vitriol behind his back, the part-time jobs he is never called back to after the first day. It settles into what is for Seonghwa a simple reality in that he cannot speak. 

There is thunder in Hongjoong's gaze and anger in his song. There are arguments that this is discrimination, that Seonghwa should be treated like a human being and how has Seonghwa endured this for so long. 

"Hongjoong-ah," Seonghwa says and stifles the instinct that says he deserves to be treated like this. "This is the life of the empath." 

Of all the many times they have talked about Seonghwa's power and all the many times they will in the future, this is the only time where Hongjoong cries. 

"What about your promise?" Hongjoong gasps. "How are they supposed to see you for what you are when they're so busy focusing on what you could be?"

Something old and warped starts to recover in his chest. There is warmth through Seonghwa's body.

"The promise will take time," Seonghwa says and knows that he will not run from it. He brushes the tear from Hongjoong's cheek. "You see me. That's more than enough."

Really, that is all that Seonghwa needs. One person. Hongjoong. 

* * *

(There is one time and one time only that Seonghwa will let Hongjoong take on his emotions. 

It is winter, the lack of window seal has been solved by too-cheap construction putty, and Seonghwa has not had a terrible day. Hongjoong asks and Seonghwa agrees just this once to present his emotions as he presents them to his father. He shows Hongjoong his loneliness and his longing, his defeat and his disgust. He reveals the fear and panic and hatred that tear into his heart. He gives Hongjoong his soul with all of its intimacies, if only for a moment, and knows that Hongjoong could tear him into a thousand pieces if he felt so inclined. 

Hongjoong does not cry, but he looks at Seonghwa with something that cannot be captured by words and his lips hold a lifetime of comfort.) 

* * *

The president tells Seonghwa that if he wants to, he is welcome back for the next school year. His scholarship will still be intact, there is an offer to intern for her during the summer, and her office door will always be open to him regardless of the decision he makes. 

"I would like to continue," Seonghwa whispers and her surprise is almost as loud as her satisfaction. "You were right." 

"Was I?" she asks. 

"Things were different," he says so softly it is barely there. She hears it nonetheless. "Humans are different than what I thought they were." 

She smiles at him warmly. 

_Pride_.

"Even I find myself floored by the kindness humans can be capable of," she tells him. "I'd love to meet her sometime."

"Him," Seonghwa corrects quietly. 

The president laughs and Seonghwa thinks it is a lovely sound. "Him, then."

* * *

Everything is the same and everything is different. Everything contains multitudes. There are things he has learned that he must unlearn and things that he has hidden that he must now find. Facts need to be amended, survival instincts recalibrated, and it is such a very slow process. 

(Hongjoong tells Seonghwa that sometimes living is an incredibly difficult thing to do and there is a tiredness in his song that Seonghwa knows is in his too.) 

Time may not heal their wounds, but they will heal their wounds in time. 

Seonghwa learns how to respect Hongjoong's privacy while still hearing Hongjoong's emotions. He learns when to let Hongjoong come to him and when to go to Hongjoong instead. He learns to use his power when Hongjoong reaches out through his suffering and gasps "Hwa, please," to whisper reminders of calm and comfort and control with lips that brush against Hongjoong's temple. He learns how to ask for things he wants and how to admit that he's upset. He learns that his personality is already deep inside him and how to express all of the intricacies that make him a unique human being.

He learns that love is not something he can learn to do because love is different for everyone and there is no right way to do it. He learns that love can be quiet and constant and loud and spastic. He learns that love is in the brush of a thumb against a wrist and the argument for the dinner bill. He learns that love does not discriminate and does not have boundaries. He learns that love contains multitudes and there is nothing stopping him from loving and being loved. 

And it is slow, so slow. Telling yourself something is different than believing something and belief takes time to build. 

I have time, Seonghwa tells himself. I don't have to run from this. 

Seonghwa amends Fact One and tosses the others. Hongjoong comes back from every therapy session feeling a bit lighter. They hold onto each other and slowly heal together and Seonghwa learns to live more than the life of the empath. 

* * *

On the last day of the semester, the girl who sits three seats down from Seonghwa in the discussion section leans over conspiratorially and asks, "So?"

There is no one way to love, love contains multitudes. He smiles softly at her and she smiles back. 

* * *

Hongjoong goes to see a childhood dongsaeng and meet their friends and Seonghwa stares thoughtfully at the plum tree bonsai. 

" _I am human_ ," he tells the plum tree bonsai. " _I know happiness_."

The tea kettle screams and Seonghwa reminds himself to tease Hongjoong about leaving it on. 

" _I love_ ," he tells the plum tree bonsai. " _And I am loved._ "

Seonghwa pushes off the floor to turn the kettle off. Their second school year is fast approaching and he should clean the apartment before it begins. 

Winter surrenders to the song of spring and the plum tree bonsai blooms. 

* * *

Seonghwa keeps taking psychology classes. Hongjoong hangs out with his friends and Seonghwa picks him up afterward. They argue over which drama to watch on the weekends, replace the prints on the walls with pictures of their own, and sit in the window seat with their hips pressed together. 

They study together, cook dinner, and make sure the other doesn't become a complete mess. 

They live and they heal and they love. 

A month or two into school, Hongjoong stops in his tracks with a soft "oh" and Seonghwa stops beside him. His gaze is far away. "I know that kid." 

Seonghwa follows his gaze and sees a boy in the shade of a flowering dogwood tree, propped up against the trunk with his eyes closed. For all Seonghwa knows the boy could be sleeping. 

"He's a friend of the dongsaeng I went to see," Hongjoong continues. "I didn't have his number, I've been meaning to find him." 

"Why don't you invite him to lunch with us?" Seonghwa says, the suggestion rolling off his tongue mindlessly. 

Hongjoong looks up at Seonghwa carefully. "Are you sure?" 

And there is a world outside the moments they share. There is a world and it is cruel so often and there is no place for Seonghwa there. Not now. There is a world and the people who live in it may not be as kind as Hongjoong. 

And does it matter? 

**Fact One: Seonghwa is more than just an empath**

"Yes," Seonghwa smiles. "I'm sure."

Hongjoong's smile could rival the sun. 

"Okay," he says and begins to move away. "Okay, be right back." He teleports halfway across the quad and jogs to the boy with a shout of "Hey, Mingi-ya!"

Seonghwa laughs at the inky air that lingers and pushes forward. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >   
>  _Come out of hiding, I'm right here beside you  
>  And I'll stay there as long as you let me  
> Because you matter to me  
> Simple and plain and not much to ask from somebody  
> I promise you do, you, you matter too  
> You matter to me_  
> 
> 
> thank you to everyone who has been so patient in waiting for me to finish and thank you to everyone who read this all the way to the end! this has been a journey and while it was perhaps a bit too self-reflective for comfort, i am glad i went on it. i hope you are too. as always, i'd love to hear your thoughts on [twitter](https://twitter.com/theEmberAnne) or in the comments below.
> 
> p.s. to those of you who are like "BUT ARE THEY TOGETHER," i suppose they are together.  
> p.p.s. how together is defined is entirely up to you ;P  
> p.p.p.s. if you want to see hongjoong's perspective of hwa revealing his power, go [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29794455)


End file.
